


The boys get lonely after you leave

by CoinToYourWitcher



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, All song fics all the time, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben is 27, British Guard Ben Solo, Drinking, Eventual Sex, F/M, HEA, Inspired by Chelsea Dagger by the Fratellis, Loss of Virginity, Plot Twist, Reylo - Freeform, Sex withholding, Sexual Tension, college student rey, rey is 20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoinToYourWitcher/pseuds/CoinToYourWitcher
Summary: Rey likes to vent all of her woes to a British guard, whenever she spots him. He can’t move or speak, except for the occasional pace to the other side of the gate and back. After weeks of this, he sees her at a pub while off duty with his British Army mates--who have heard the tales of the girl from Chelsea who uses Ben as free therapy. After one incredible night, Ben recruits his mates to help him with a daring plan, a solution to all of her problems.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 239
Kudos: 496
Collections: RFR Songfic Challenge





	1. Well it's a big big city and it's always the same

**Author's Note:**

> Music is nostalgically old because that’s when I went to England for the first time and this is the sound of England to me!!
> 
> [The Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3qp3onqBYmo9hnpKJPSmG6?si=dkLd_NaNQLGTa_ihH12e_g)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Well it's a big big city and it's always the same  
>  Can never be too pretty, tell me your name  
> Is it out of line if I was to be bold and say "Would you be mine"?  
> Because I may be a beggar and you may be the queen**
> 
> Whistle for the Choir - The Fratellis

[ ](https://ibb.co/yFv5Tj2)

Ben’s nose itched so bad, he had a migraine forming from the weight of the bearskin (almost 8lbs), and he was growing very tired of counting the flagstones to pass the time. His count was at 143 when a small family blocked his view, coming closer. 

“Doesn’t he look like a nutcracker?”

_Ugh. Americans._

He could tell already, they were so loud. Out of all the tourists, it always seemed to be Americans who tried to hug him for selfies. One time, an American woman even slipped her number into the pocket of his winter greatcoat.

His dad was an American, and his accent had rubbed off on Ben a little, but most of his mates thought it sounded cool.

As a Grenadier Guard at Buckingham Palace, he had to stand stock still, a traditional show of respect for the job at hand, protecting the royal family. Not much of a _family_ now, with just the elderly king in residence.

Ben looked straight ahead as the tourists approached. Their small son with sand-colored hair ran up to him, stopping just two feet away, craning his neck to appraise him. 

_Please, kid, don’t punch me in the balls._

The local police were nearby in case the tourists got silly, but dammit if little American shits weren’t unpredictable.

“He’s so tall!” He shouted. “Is he real?”

Ben blinked, about all he could do. He and his fellow guard, Jon, had already paced to stretch their legs and they were only permitted to do so once every ten minutes. 

“Wow!”

“Can we take a photo with you?” His mother asked, holding her disposable camera in his field of view, as if he didn’t know where photos came from. 

He stared blankly ahead in response.

“I don’t think he’s allowed to talk, Barb,” her husband said, holding his arm out and fitting everyone in the shot. 

Ben didn’t mind photos, as long as they kept their hands off. It was a welcome distraction from the boredom of 2 hours on sentry duty. 

“The King lives in there, Ben,” the mother said.

_Hey, that’s his name too. Unfortunately, little Ben would never know that fun fact._

“And these are his security guards,” she said, pointing to him and Jon.

_Eh, not quite._

“Actually,” a new voice came from his right, a girl’s voice. 

He tried to use his peripherals but the bugby’s fur was blocking her from view.

“The Guards are real soldiers, Britain’s elite. Typically, their families are aristocrats and most of them come from Eton or Harrow and Cambridge or Oxford. As Kipling put it, the Guards are ‘the pick of the Army.’” 

_Thank you, British Girl, couldn’t have said it better myself._

He went to Harrow’s boarding school from ages 13-18, at which point it was on to Oxford, where he graduated four years ago. And yes, most of them were ‘aristobrats’.

She stepped into view.

Ben kept his eyes still while she spoke with the family, even though he really wanted to look her down. She was young, perhaps twenty, with brown hair. After giving the family directions to Big Ben, she stood, staring at the palace for a long moment, before her eyes flicked over to him. 

_Shit._

He’d been watching her face, looking at her freckled nose, rather than directly ahead.

“I saw that,” she laughed, a cute, tinkling sound.

Ben wondered if Jon could hear her. He didn’t want Jon to think he was doing anything he wasn’t supposed to, since Ben was the senior officer. All he’d done was move his eyes a fraction of an inch. In three months as a Guard, he hadn’t been reprimanded once.

“It must be annoying to guard the residence when the King’s not even home,” she said, a glazed expression on her face as she surveyed the palace.

_She must have noticed that the flag flying on the palace roof was the Union Flag, rather than the Royal Standard, which signaled when the king was home._

“You guys probably get pretty bored,” she said, still not looking at him. 

_Oh, she was going to be one of those._

One time, he had a little girl read him an entire chapter of Harry Potter in an effort to entertain him. 

_Actually, that was great, maybe he did enjoy being pity-entertained._

She glanced over at him, but he kept his gaze sternly forward. 

“Love your ears,” she smiled.

Ben felt his neck blush. 

_Was she flirting?_

His ears _were_ huge. When he was off duty, his hair covered them, but he had to put his hair up in a knot while at his post. He swallowed and her eyes followed the progression of his Adam’s apple. Something about this situation was becoming strangely erotic.

“I’ve never been on the tour,” she said, looking back at the building.

His body relaxed as her focus returned to the architecture, even though the hand on his rifle butt had become sweaty. On the ten or twelve times Ben had been inside the palace, he only thought of how extravagant it was, how ridiculous that one man lived there. But the country used it to entertain dignitaries and it brought in tourist dollars, so it served a purpose. Also, the king was a notorious prick.

Jon was probably wondering what she was saying to him. They’d be relieved of their shift soon, maybe twenty minutes. He wasn’t entirely sure since he couldn’t look down at his watch. 

There was a long pause, then she swiped the back of her hand under her chin. It looked like she had just removed a tear. He waited, making sure she wasn’t paying attention, then stole a glance. Her nose was a little red, her lips tight.

_What on earth about Buckingham Palace was making her cry?_

“My parents brought me here once, you know, just to the gate,” she said, her voice shaking.

Ben pulled his eyes away again, to give her privacy.

“I grew up in Kent, but I just moved here for uni. Living right over there in Chelsea,” she said, her voice stronger, nodding in the direction of her flat. 

_He lived sort of that way too, in the Wellington Barracks, but she probably knew that._

“So, just thought I’d come see it,” she said, scoffing in embarrassment.

She backed up, now in his eye line. 

_Wow. She was a proper knockout._

She had on a white crop top and blue jean shorts, long, smooth legs, and flip flops. Her crossbody purse strap was nestled between her breasts and he could just make out her curves through the fabric.

Ben wished she’d say her name. Or tell him her phone number. He had a good memory. If he wouldn’t go to jail for it, he’d ask. But--to his frustration--she continued walking, throwing her hand up in a wave as she passed Jon. 

Ben twisted his head as much as he dared, following her with his eyes until he couldn’t see her anymore, a feeling of overwhelming disappointment fogging his thoughts.

On their break at the guards room of St. James’ Palace next door, Jon and Ben changed into their standard camouflage British Army uniforms, hanging the red tunics up in protective plastic bags.

“What was that girl saying to you for so long?” Jon asked, sitting on the bench as he laced up his boots.

Ben smiled at the envious note in his voice, pulling his hair down from the knot.

“She was just telling the tourists we weren’t bodyguards. Then she made fun of my ears,” he said, trying to shrug it off.

“She was well fit,” Jon said, offhandedly. 

“Yeah, she knew all about the Guards too,” Ben said. “It was cool.”

“I thought for sure that kid was going for your balls when he ran up,” Jon laughed, remembering the Americans.

“Oh, me too. I was about to hit a 10-year-old,” Ben said, grinning. 

They walked into the mess room, seeing the rest of their Grenadier bunkmates, five in total, lounging around the foosball machine. They’d be playing real football if they could. They competed against the Coldstream, Irish, Scotch, and Welsh Guards who also lived at the barracks.

“Hey guys, a bird hit on Ben today!” Jon said.

Ben shook his head, “She did not hit on me.”

“His neck is red, he lies,” Oliver said, pointing. 

They gathered around to pass the time with a retelling of the exchange, Jon even tossing everyone a packet of crisps from the kitchen. 

“What did she look like?” Zed asked.

“I don’t know. She had freckles?” Ben said, humoring them.

“I love a girl with freckles,” Oliver said, listening in from the loo. He was on the toilet, but he left the door open so he could hear about the girl.

“She was a ten,” Jon added, enjoying the attention.

“There was this one thing. She kind of...cried,” Ben said.

“Did she?” Jon asked, his voice going up an octave.

“Yeah, I don’t know why. Maybe her parents died or something, she mentioned them,” Ben said, kneading his hands in his lap. 

Everyone stopped, scrutinizing him.

“He’s doing it,” Oliver said, still on the toilet.

“You’re doing that thing with your hands,” Dan explained, seeing Ben’s confused look.

“You _liked_ her!” Oliver teased. “You do that every time a hot bird hits on you at The Dagger.”

Grinning sheepishly, Ben stood up and closed the door to the loo, ignoring Oliver’s protests. For the last few years, these six soldiers had been his best mates and they all knew each other’s tells. 

“That’s it, we’re pulling up the security footage!” Joe shouted to tumultuous applause.


	2. It’s therapeutic somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **I've just had the craziest week  
>  Like a party bag of lies, booze, and then deceit  
> And I don't know why I want to voice this out loud  
> It's therapeutic somehow**
> 
> Moving to New York by The Wombats

“You probably don’t remember me, but I came through here a couple weeks ago. I remember you, with the ears,” Rey rambled to the stoic Guard. 

Despite his identifier being his ears, she’d been referring to him in her head as ‘Big Hands’. But she wasn’t about to tell  _ him  _ she’d noticed. He’d probably follow her train of thought that his giant, manly mitts might be an indicator of just how proportionate he might be  _ elsewhere _ , or perhaps he’d be able to glean that she had fantasized about what he could do with those long, rough-looking fingers. 

Rey had been thinking about him a lot, particularly their little millisecond of eye contact. Somehow that bit of nothing had felt like everything, like she was some kind of seductress, capable of making this formidable soldier break character. There was something there she wished she could explore, but that wasn’t why she was back. She felt like he deserved an apology for her mini breakdown last time.

“I know you guys are doing a job and need to focus, and I just started, you know, talking, so I’m sorry,” Rey said, taking her heavy book bag off and letting it lean against her leg. 

Big Hands stared resolutely forward but--with ears like that--he was clearly listening. His neck was turning scarlet, which made her think he did remember her. 

The other guard was different, this time a handsome black boy, tall, like the rest of the Guard. There was probably a height requirement.

“I was just upset last time, it’s kind of hard to explain,” Rey said, pausing to look around, but there were no tourists approaching. She wanted to give Big Hands some context so he wouldn’t think she normally just went around crying at famous landmarks.

“Last week I was supposed to meet with my grandfather for the first time, like, ever. Then that day I got a call saying he had to leave the country. Can you believe that?” Rey laughed, checking his face again. 

He gave no indication that she existed. It was like talking to a very sexy wax figure at  Madame Tussauds.

Honestly, it felt good to tell someone about her grandfather. She hadn’t even told Paige, her flatmate and former foster sister. They told each other everything, ever since they went through the Care system together. But she couldn’t tell  _ anyone _ about this, so she hadn’t mentioned crying at the gate to Buckingham Palace either. 

Rey explained to him that she had finally gotten in touch with her grandfather--well, his staff--and had set up a meeting. Her parents had told her a hundred times that he was less than warm, but this rejection, after all she’d been through, had been too much. 

She looked away from the building, where she had been staring again, anywhere that wasn’t Big Hands, forced to listen to her venting. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. His dark eyes were covered by the ‘bearskin’ and the chin strap seemed to keep his mouth from making even the slightest movement. Something about all of his features put together was charming and it almost hurt to look away, but she maintained decorum, only ever observing him with aloof glances.

“So, anyway, I’m sorry,” Rey said, hoisting her book bag again and giving both Guards a wave, making for Hyde Park to do some studying.

The next few days brought her by the Guards several times, but she didn’t see Big Hands. She told herself that she wouldn’t bother him again, but for some reason she found herself checking her hair in the shop windows before she was due to cross in front of the Guards on her walk to her new favorite study spot, a grassy view of Kensington Gardens on the far side of the park. She liked the view of the pond, with all of the ducks and swans, where the occasional crow might come soliciting for bits of her vegan sausage roll.

After a week of not seeing Big Hands, Rey sat in her plastic desk at the  London School of Economics and Political Science, trying to remember what day and time she had seen  _ her _ Guard the first two times. It was a Monday and Wednesday, around noon on both occasions. It was a Monday now, and checking her phone, she saw that it was 10:45am. Doing some quick figuring, she estimated that she could get from her class in Covent Garden to Buckingham Palace by foot in thirty minutes if she hurried. 

When her class let out, she was the first out the door, her Converses pounding on the sidewalk as she dodged a Segway tour. When she was almost there, she stopped to catch her breath, wanting to look as nonchalant as possible. Critiquing her reflection in the window of Waterford’s book store, she slowed her pace, meandering down ‘The Mall’ path from Trafalgar Square towards the Palace. 

Sure enough, Big Hands was there, doing a stiff pace to the other side of the gate and back, their method of making sure they didn’t pass out. She knew a bit about the Guards, her father grew up mingling with them and had lots of stories. Like if they passed out, they were required to do it woodenly, face first, which seemed a cruel command to follow.

As she approached, he was back to his spot, slamming his rifle methodically into position, tight on his arm. She stayed directly in front of him so he could see her coming. 

This time, not only did his neck go red, but his ears found that shade as well.

“Hey, I’m back,” she said, stupidly. “Just got out of class and I like to study in the park, but I saw you, so, just wanted to say ‘hi’,” she laughed, as if it were an accident, spotting him again.

She waved at the other Guard, a new boy this time, but just as tall as the two previous, though a little stockier. He ignored her.

“I realized later that it probably seemed silly to be upset about not meeting my grandfather. But I should have said that he’s my only living relative, since my parents died, so it was kind of a big deal,” Rey spewed, suddenly. 

She didn’t know why she kept trying to justify her confessions to the hunky soldier, but it seemed like the more she tried to explain herself, the more bonkers she looked. Keeping her eyes on the wrought iron gate, she plowed on, unable to stop herself.

“I swear I’m not mental,” she sighed. “I know you  _ do not  _ care about the woes of the foster kid. And I totally bragged last time about living in Chelsea, but it’s not posh. My flatmate and I live with four other students just to afford it and I have to work while I go to school.” 

Glancing over, she caught his eyes on her face, like the first day, before he quickly looked forward again. He was probably so bored that anything to look at was better than nothing, but it made her heart race.

Although, he might also be worried she was going to become a security problem.

“Sorry, I did it again, just started telling you things. I don’t know why, it just feels better to...tell someone,” she said, biting her lip to stop herself from continuing. 

Cringing, she turned and started walking back the way she’d come, before remembering she was going to the park. She changed direction mid-step like a complete idiot and pointed her finger as if to say, ‘Oops, that way.’

Another week went by before Rey spotted Big Hands on sentry duty again. She had actually forgotten about his shift, her mind busy coming up with a topic for her Political Science paper. 

It seemed a shame to pass by him without saying something though, since his stints at the gate were relatively short. 

She should have approached from the front, rather than the side, because when she spoke, he jumped a little.

“Hi! Oh- woops, scared ya,” she said, stepping in front of him. 

His eyes traveled down her short dress before he could stop himself and she smirked. 

_ There is a man in there. _

Glancing at the other guard, she recognized the guy who had been there the first time she stopped. She briefly wondered if all these dishy Guards ever talked about her, the weirdo who picked on Big Hands.

His neck was a normal color today. Maybe he wasn’t as shocked to see her, now on her fourth visit. 

“This is kind of fun, isn’t it?” Rey asked, rhetorically. “Well, for me it is. I mean, I could tell you anything and you’ll never know who I am. I feel a little bit better after every time I unload this lot on you, dunno why, but it’s brilliant. And hopefully you don’t care.”

Big Hands made no movements, but his jaw muscle seemed to clench in self restraint. He probably had a million thoughts he wanted to verbalize. 

Rey smirked, gazing openly at him now, daring his eyes to meet hers, but he continued staring over her shoulder. She cast around for something shocking enough to get his attention.

“I used to steal stuff. Not for fun! But like, to eat,” Rey said, musingly. 

She told Paige embarrassing stuff, like the time she got a drunk tattoo of a blue butterfly on her hip, or the time she fell in the fountain at the cathedral on a school field trip. But there were a few tough subjects she stayed away from. There was a big difference between voicing something aloud and having a conversation about it.

“One time my second foster dad came to pick me up from school and kind of threw me into the truck, in front of everyone. I think just because he thought I was late coming out, but I wasn’t.”

“And my parents were in a car crash, by the way,” she said, still listing things, unemotionally. “I wasn’t with them, but I saw the pictures in the paper. You couldn’t even tell the wreck used to be a car. It was a bad accident. But I’m glad it was bad. I think they probably didn’t suffer.”

Rey left off the fact that her parents were being chased by paparazzi. It had been a famous accident. She didn’t want to give away her identity. She would love to tell someone  _ that _ secret, the big one that really weighed on her.

Snapping back to reality, she noticed Big Hands’ eyebrows had knitted a little. He was probably getting concerned she was losing it on him. She should get out of there before she ended up cuffed in a police lorry.

Rey laughed to ease the tension, her eyes back on the palace’s rows of windows.

“You’re probably thinking I’m completely crackers at this point,” Rey said, “And maybe I am, telling a stranger my life, like you’re my therapist or something. I swear I’m not going to make a habit of this. I’ll leave you alone. But if you want to know one more secret…” Rey said, looking at him again, feeling a surge of uncharacteristic courage, the game ending, her last chance to say something to Big Hands.

“I think you’re really,  _ really  _ attractive,” she said, smiling up at him as his neck, face, and ears attempted to mimic his tunic. 

“Thanks for listening.”

His eyes darted to hers, almost as if he was afraid that this was her final goodbye--which it was--but that was a positive note to end this strange series of encounters on, she decided. 

Rey walked away, feeling lighter somehow, with a smile on her face the entire length of Hyde Park.


	3. Let’s dance to Joy Division

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Let's dance to Joy Division  
>  And celebrate the irony  
> Everything is going wrong  
> But we're so happy  
> Let's dance to Joy Division  
> And raise our glass to the ceiling  
> 'Cause this could all go so wrong  
> But we're so happy**
> 
> Let’s Dance to Joy Division by The Wombats

The sun had already set by the time Ben and the gang filed out of Wellington Barracks (after their commanding officer had reviewed their civilian attire). They were under strict codes of dress, even in terms of how tight their jeans could be, how much dirt on their trainers, the messages on their graphic T’s, to the point where they ditched them for Henleys and solid colors, just to expedite their Saturday escape to the pub.

Most of the soldiers frequented the local pubs, but the Grenadier Guard always walked twenty minutes further to The Dagger, their way of avoiding the competition. The Dagger was a corner bar, painted black with gold letters, the interior hosting dark wood and antique booths, a wrap around bar, and Chelsea FC banners. 

After lining up for a pint, they started their first round sitting at their usual booth, downing liquid courage before they would make any attempts to talk to girls, who generally stayed at the bar if they were looking for company.

“So, you think that’s it with Chelsea Girl?” Zed asked Ben as they squeezed seven of them into the round corner table. Zed sat on the backrest of the booth, his feet in the seat, making more room for everyone.

Ben nodded, still swallowing. “Yeah, seems like she’s not coming back. I mean, I thought so. And it’s been five days.”

“Aw, Ben, you counting?” Jon laughed.

Ben stood up, deciding tonight was a good night to get a pitcher, rather than drink by the pint. Most traditional pubs didn’t serve beer by the ‘jug’, but the owner made exceptions for the Grenadiers, as a former military man.

At the bar, Ben wrapped his knuckles to the tune of the song playing, masking his discomfort with tonight's topic of conversation: Chelsea Girl and how she was never coming back. They didn’t even know how close he was to saying something to her, how their corporal had nearly landed himself in a disciplinary prison in Essex. If she had asked him a question, he probably would have given her an actual out loud answer. 

This was the week of his life that he’d look back on forever as that time with The One That Got Away.

Even his mates seemed pretty down about it, after they had stoked the fires of his infatuation for a month, replaying security footage of Chelsea Girl and trying to figure out her patterns so someone could be off duty and run up to her for him. 

“Two jugs of bitter. Cheers,” Ben said, when the bartender leaned in for his order. Ben watched the barman tilt the tap back as he reached for his wallet, then froze, hearing a tinkling laugh. 

_ There’s no way. _

Turning around, in the booth right next to the boys was Chelsea Girl, talking animatedly to a group of female friends. He spun back to the bar, his face growing hot. 

_ They had walked right past her. _

Sliding a twenty pound note across the counter, he grabbed the pitchers and walked calmly over to the Grenadier booth.

“Ben, why are you all red?” Joe asked. 

A hush spread as they all stopped to wait for Ben to explain himself.

“She’s  _ here _ ,” Ben mouthed, setting the pitchers down, his hands starting to shake. 

He didn’t need to tell them who ‘she’ was, as they all started quietly freaking out, bobbing up and down like meerkats to look around the pub. 

“Bollocks.”

“Is he having a laugh?”

“That’s not her.”

Ben pulled Oliver down by the shirt.

“Be cool!” Ben ordered, taking a deep breath. “She’s literally right next to us,” he whispered.

“Sighting confirmed!”

“We were just talking about those girls! I called Dibs on the Asian,” Jon said.

“Don’t call Dibs on a woman,” Ben said. “They’re not a spot on the sofa.”

They laughed, growing giddy with excitement.

“Okay, so if there’s no Dibs,  _ I’ll _ chat up Chelsea Girl,” Dan threatened.

“Dibs on Chelsea Girl,” Ben said, quickly, trying to keep his voice down. 

“Are you going to tell her about your mum?” Zed asked, seriously.

“No, what? I’m trying to come up with  _ anything  _ right now other than ‘hi, remember me, the Guard you confessed your life to, like, she probably doesn’t want her friends to know about it,” Ben said, taking a swig. 

His mouth was getting dry just thinking about talking to her. He kind of missed being a mute Guard, at least then he wouldn’t have to be clever and impressive.

He was saved having to come up with a good line, when the girls suddenly started standing to leave. 

Ben slid out of the booth and grabbed her gently by the arm, spinning her around. Recognition hit her like a ton of bricks, a smile sliding off her face in shock.

He let go of her arm, afraid to speak and scare her away.

“Rey, who’s this?” her Asian friend asked, sliding up next to her.

Her girlfriends were distracted, grabbing their purses, but soon everyone noticed the 6’3” man looming silently next to their dumbstruck friend.

“Rey,” Ben said, testing the new name, trying to mentally replace ‘Chelsea Girl’. “I’m Ben. Can I get you a drink?”

“We’re going to see a movie,” a girl said from behind her. 

“Aw, if you leave, then who will  _ we  _ hang out with?” Zed asked, flirtatiously, throwing an arm around Ben. 

The girls watched in awe as the Grenadiers stood up behind Ben, trying to look their tallest and fittest, ready to romance Rey’s friends to keep her at the pub with Ben. 

Rey’s hands came up to cover her smile as each boy paired up with one of her friends and relocated to the bar.

Ben followed Rey’s lead as they slid into the abandoned girl’s booth across from each other, his knees hitting hers a little under the table, his legs too long for this setup.

Finally, she spoke, “Thanks for not telling my friends. About. You know.”

“No worries,” Ben grinned, happy to hear the sound of her voice again.

“Uh, just so it’s not weird, like you think I’m lying or anything, I kinda told the boys all about you. You know, when you first came by I didn’t think anything of it,” Ben said, watching her face for any signs of discomfort.

She was smiling.

“I didn’t picture you being a hand talker,” Rey said. “And your voice isn’t how I imagined either, you sound...”

Ben realized his hands were waving lazily in the air, another tell of his, typically meaning he was having a good time. “American? Yeah, blame my yank Dad.”

“Well, this isn’t fair, Ben. You know all about me, tell me something about you, anything,” Rey said taking a sip of his beer. 

Ben took it as a good sign that she was willing to share germs with him, but leaned over to grab the jug from the guys table to pour her a fresh one anyway, trying to think of something to say.

“Oh, well. This is actually my favorite song that’s playing,” he said, truthfully.

“This one, right now, that just happens to be playing  _ right now _ , is your favorite song?” She said, disbelievingly.

“You don’t believe me!” Ben said, pretending to be wounded. “Okay, the song is Love Will Tear Us Apart, released in 1980, one month after lead singer Ian Curtis killed himself.”

“Now you’re just showing off!” Rey cried, slapping his arm.

Ben laughed.

“Oh, that gives me an idea,” he said, leaning over to poke Jon in the backside. “Let’s play The Laughing Game against the girls.”

“YES!” Jon agreed enthusiastically, ordering a round for everyone.

Zed explained to the ladies that The Laughing Game was a drinking game for Guardsmen, their way of practicing to maintain composure while on duty. They would try to make each other laugh or smile, one at a time, and if they slipped up, they had to do a shot. 

They started at the other end of the group, with Rey’s friend Paige who tried to make Oliver laugh by quoting Little Britain characters. 

When she couldn’t get him to laugh, she threw up her arms in surrender.

“That’s one for The Dagger!” Oliver said, handing her a shot.

“What does that mean?” Rey asked Ben.

“Just that The Dagger is making money every time someone loses their round.”

Paige did the shot, but, ever a good sport, Oliver did one as well.

When it came his turn, Ben waited for Rey to still her face, trying to wipe away all evidence of a smile. She was already struggling. He knew it was going to be easy. Grabbing a napkin off the bar, he raised it to her face quickly. “Does this smell like chloroform to you?”

She laughed before the napkin touched her face and gave him a shove, reaching for her shot and downing it with a look of squinty reproach.

Cringing the burn away, she turned to Ben, his face already imperturbable. Everyone at this point was barely minding them, caught up in their private conversations rather than the game. Rey took a step closer, and his eyes followed her. He could look, just not smile or laugh.

She raised a hand slowly, resting it on his chest and sliding it down his front, watching her own hand as if she had forgotten it was a game, one where she should be monitoring his face.

_ Fuck fuck fuck.  _

He didn’t smile, but  _ she _ did, tugging on the bottom of his shirt, silently asking him to bend down. _ To kiss her, hopefully. _

As he leaned in, she closed her eyes and he followed suit, but at the last second she replaced her mouth with the napkin whispering, “shhh,” as if chloroforming  _ him _ . 

He smiled at her trick and she raised her arms in victory. “Yeeeeah!” The boys cheered with her, realizing she’d gotten the better of Ben.

She handed him the shot, which he threw back, surprised when she pulled him down to kiss the burn away.


	4. All of London sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **And those lipstick kisses  
>  Oh yeah that's the right move  
> Makes me feel like I'm the one who's moving you  
> The only one you see  
> All of London sings  
> 'Cause England's swings and they sure love the tales I bring  
> And those rainy days they ain't so bad when you're the King**
> 
> Fans by Kings of Leon

Rey was hot and sweaty from laughing and dancing and drinking in the crowded pub when they stumbled outside for some privacy. Her breath came out in a little, misty cloud; the temperature had dropped.

“Ah, better out here,” she said, peeling her hair off her neck. 

She felt like she was getting her second wind. “Do you want to go for a walk? I’ll just text my friends and let them know?” She said, hoping he wouldn’t mind leaving his. 

Things were off to such a good start, but her head was spinning from the chaos of The Dagger, learning everyone’s names and trying to keep her friends in the dark about her frequent stops by Buckingham Palace.

Ben grinned, his hands in his pockets, “Sure.”

“Want me to show you my study spot?” She asked, heading towards Hyde Park and pulling him by the hand. 

Conversation was easier than before, thanks to the drinks and facing the same direction, rather than each other.

“Why political science?” Ben asked, after she told him about school.

Rey sighed, “You’re going to think I’m dreaming...but I want to be Prime Minister some day.”

Ben was smirking quietly so she gave his arm a punch, knowing he was judging her.

“No, no, you can do it, I’m just. That’s not why I’m smiling,” he said, lamely. 

She knew she shouldn’t have told him. “I just think I can’t trust politicians to do the right thing, they always disappoint me, so the only solution is to do it myself, like everything else in my life, I have to do it myself. I haven’t even told my professors my aspirations.”

“It’s not that crazy, we have a female Prime Minister now,” Ben said, as they entered Hyde Park. 

“I know! She’s my idol!”

“Then why not just own it? Tell people.”

“Because I am a treasure trove of deep, dark secrets, Ben,” she laughed, as they approached her reading hill. 

“This is it,” she said, pointing and running to her unimpressive spot of hillside to lay down in the tall, wet grass. They didn’t mow Hyde Park often. It was a rather large slice of wilderness at the center of London.

Ben laid down next to her and, if they looked hard through the light pollution and fog, they could see a few stars. 

“What’re the secrets, then?” Ben asked, still looking up.

Rey really considered telling him for a moment. Just to tell _someone_. To get it out. But she couldn’t risk it. She had a good life--now--and she didn’t want the attention it would bring, the attention that had been deadly to her parents, infamous and left with no security detail to defend themselves.

“It’s really just the one,” Rey said, trying to sound boring. She struggled to think up a subject change when he propped his head up on his elbow to look at her.

“Tell me,” he said, interested now, his hand pulling her shirt down a little where her midriff was showing.

“No! I can’t,” she said, wishing he would kiss her again, before deciding she didn’t need to wait for him. She pulled him in and he hovered over her, before raising his lips out of reach, whispering, “Tell me,” again. 

She shook her head and he refused her attempts at another kiss, moving instead down her throat until he met the neckline of her shirt, and grazed a hand between her legs, the delicate pressure making her squirm. 

“I’ve never done _this_ ,” she said, honestly, meaning sex, “But that’s not the secret.”

“You’ve never done this?” He whispered coyly, pressing harder, bringing his mouth down on hers and forcing his tongue past the barrier of her lips. 

She felt a surge of want and need and she knew _nothing_ was stopping her from having sex tonight. Not the damp grass, or their short acquaintance, or the semi-public area she’d stupidly chosen. She reached to unbuckle his belt, before starting on his buttons.

“Not until you tell me,” his voice rumbled in her ear.

“What, you won’t have sex with me unless I tell you?” She asked, skeptically. No British boy would care enough to withhold sex just to find out more about her.

He _re-buttoned_ his jeans, still invading her mouth with his warm tongue, his knee digging between her legs.

“Ben, please,” she whined, when he paused for air. She ran her hands over his chest under his shirt. She could feel he was hard--when his pelvis bobbed between her thighs--a few measly layers of blue jeans separating them. This wasn’t fair to either of them. 

Her hand was small. She tried to fit it down his waistband without unbuttoning his jeans, but he grabbed her hand and pinned it above her head, finding her left hand and bringing it up to join the other. His hands were so big, he was able to restrain both of hers easily in one.

She huffed a laugh, rolling her face away to give him access to her neck again. His mouth was on her pulse there, but the throb was happening between her legs. She whined again, wishing he would at least lower himself down again. 

She’d been so busy with life and school and getting a flat and a job at the bookstore and making rent...she never had time for boys. She really, _really_ just wanted to see what he felt like in her hand, even if all he let her do was rub him on the outside of his jeans. _Fuck, this was insufferable._

“ _Fine_ ,” she cried, impatiently. She could see his smirk out of the corner of her eye. “My dad was Alexander Palpatine.” There it was. Smirk gone. 

_Oh my god. She had said it._

He raised himself up, reading her face to see if she was joking.

“I told you my parents died in a car crash,” she said, as if he could have put two and two together.

“Your dad was the disinherited _prince_?” Ben asked. “The one who who died in the 90’s when they were trying to get away from the paparazzi?”

Rey nodded, feeling his hand release her wrists, once it had finally dawned on him that he was manhandling--what would have been--an actual real-life ‘princess’. 

“Oh, fuck, this makes so much sense,” Ben said, sitting down. 

She had killed the mood. If she’d kept her mouth shut he’d _at least_ still be on top of her.

“Your grandfather is the king and he’s a dick and wouldn’t meet with you,” he said, “Because he disinherited your father when he married your mum, the schoolteacher.”

Rey nodded.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” Ben said, running his hand through his hair. 

He looked so good, sitting there with his elbows on his knees, having a crisis of conscience at the thought of fucking a secret monarch in the grass.

“Listen, Ben,” Rey sighed, sitting up, “It’s fine, I get it, your duty and all that.” He wasn’t _allowed_ to do anything with a member of the Royal family.

She made to stand, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her back down, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, _Princess_?”

“I can tell it’s weird now,” she said, as he pulled her in for a hug. 

“I’m actually kind of shocked you believe me,” she said into his shirt, feeling the heat returning between the two of them.

“A lot of the Guards have famous parents, it’s not that weird,” he said, tilting her face up and kissing her again.

She straddled him, before he could change his mind. He raised his hips off the ground, lifting her with him as he pulled a condom out of his back pocket. 

“I know you’re a virgin, but you must know the trousers have to come off,” he said, jokingly. 

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She kicked her shoes off and wriggled out of them, feeling him grab her by the arms and slide her backwards across the grass towards him. 

Laughing, they found their rhythm again, like before she said anything, like nothing had changed and they were just two lovers in the park. She had forgotten to take her panties off too, but they were lace and Ben _tore them off_ easily. _God, did men like this actually exist?_

His jeans were still on, but the front was fanned open. He lifted his hips and looked down. She snuck a glance at him as he pulled himself out, rolling the condom downward. It didn’t go far.

_Uh. Big._ Was all she could think. 

He spat in his hand and stroked his shaft, before biting his big bottom lip in concentration as he positioned himself. 

She cried out as she stretched around him, feeling a sudden dull fullness sliding in and out of her core. 

He stopped, his eyes reading her face again, smiling to tell her he could go either way. He could stop if it hurt.

She decided to tell the truth, since that was their theme for the night. “I don’t think I like the condom,” she whispered.

“Are you on-,”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

She heard a snap as he pulled it off, driving himself into her again and she tensed, not because it hurt, but so she could feel every inch of him.

“Better,” she smiled, feeling him warmer and slipperier - and it was a risk but she trusted him. She grabbed a fistful of grass to hold herself in place as his hips bucked into her, the force trying to slide her out of reach.

She liked that he wasn’t gentle, chasing his own pleasure. She wasn’t a Princess. She wasn’t made of glass. She felt like she was arching her back obscenely, spreading her legs too wide, and _definitely_ gasping too loud. She didn’t even know this person--not Ben--herself. This version of herself. She wanted to be this person all the time, this woman who scratched and bit and squirmed until she shook under his giant hands. She felt very un-British.

He ripped away cruelly, coming in the grass and she wanted to slap him. She was still shaking. She hadn’t come yet and she was so close. But then he pushed her, sliding her up the hill on her back a foot so he could lower his head between her legs. He was still panting and gasping from his own orgasm, but he was hurrying before she lost momentum. She could feel his tongue and lips and fingers penetrating her and tracing her and licksuckfilling her and she jerked, an involuntary movement. He grabbed her thighs to hold her still, digging his other hand through her entrance until she felt him against a sweet spot inside, over and over and she clenched her teeth, forgot to breathe, but didn’t forget his name when she finally screamed it.


	5. Could you back me up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Can I wake you up  
>  Can I wake you up  
> Is it late enough  
> Is it late enough  
> There's a story in which my eyes shut  
> Could you back me up?**
> 
> How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep? by Bombay Bicycle Club

Ben’s hair was in his eyes when he slowly turned his head. The tall grass had been flattened around them--like a crop circle--created by their escapades last night. _How many times had they...three?_

He couldn’t see the sun. But that was England. It was probably around 7am. He should have returned before 2am. He’d get a slap on the wrist and a wink from his commanding officer. Soldiers didn’t follow all the rules religiously, especially when it came to women.

Rey was balled up facing him and he decided not to move, enjoying how she used his arm as a pillow. Her eye makeup was messy, but it looked smoky. She couldn’t be unattractive if she tried. He wondered how long he could hold her before she woke up. Surely the chill and the gentle sounds of the park goers would ruin this moment any second.

He pulled her into the warmth of his chest. The cold ground was leeching their heat. 

Her mouth twitched into a brief smile and she shifted, “Ow.”

“What?” Ben smiled, making sure he wasn’t pulling her hair with his arm.

“I’m sore. Everywhere,” she said. She opened her eyes and peeked up at him. 

He was expecting her to say something romantic, like an ‘I like you,’ based on the look she was giving him, then laughed when she said, “Did I pee in Hyde Park last night?”

“Yes, behind that tree,” he laughed. He had told her to. To prevent a UTI.

“Oh my god,” she said, burying her face in his arm. 

“I pissed too, don’t be embarrassed,” he said as they laughed together, slowly sitting up and realizing their clothes were damp. 

She gasped, looking at her phone, “I have work in an hour!” 

Ben grabbed her phone, ignoring her confusion as he dialed his number, calling himself so he’d have her number. “Okay, there you go,” he said, dropping it back into her hand.

“That was so _aggressive_ ,” she laughed.

“I’m NOT letting you get away again,” he said, meaning every word.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Ben exhaled, waiting in the doorway to the barracks as the other Grenadiers clapped, threw socks, and saluted him. He had just gotten back right as they were about to go to the gym and each of them poked and teased him on their way out the door.

“Nice hair.”

“You got a little lipstick right there.”

“You smell good. Like grass. And sex.”

Ben’s face hurt from smiling. They knew he’d had a good night, but they had no idea. _Who_ Rey was and how wonderful she was.

After a shower, he stretched out on his bed, a crazy idea brewing. By the time the guys returned from the gym and showered, a plan was becoming fully-formed. Really, it would all come down to how much his friends liked him and how much they were willing to risk for him - and the mysterious “Chelsea girl”. First, he’d have to wait until Rey was off work and ask permission to share her secret with five more people. 

Then see how she felt about law-breaking.

\----------------------------------------

Two weeks later...

Rey crunched across the gravel towards the side entrance, looking terrified but cute in a white, formal dress and cardigan. He felt a bit like a groom on his wedding day, waiting for his bride at the altar, the Guards his groomsmen. 

Dan and Jon were at their posts in full uniform, offering her a sharp, timed salute, as if she were already reinstated. Their goal today. Ben reached his hand out and Rey took it, following him across the threshold as the gravel turned into flagstones. She was shaking.

“Ben. Ben, I can’t do this. I’ll find another way to get him to see me. You guys could get into so much trouble,” she whispered.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her, as they passed by the second line of defense, Zed and Joe. She smiled her appreciation as they saluted her as well. “He’ll love you as soon as he meets you.”

Oliver opened the door from inside, seeing them from the security camera. They didn’t usually go inside. Oliver had taken the biggest risk. Other than Ben.

“Corporal, you will find the King in the library,” he said, in a quiet monotone, the voice they used inside the palace perimeter. 

Ben knew the way, leading her up a flight of stairs, flashing a bored smile to a housekeeper as he paused his vacuum. Rey’s hand tightened in his, but he knew as long as they looked and acted like they were in the right place, no one would raise the alarm.

He had told Rey not to gaze around inside, something that would immediately draw suspicion. The short trip took them all of two minutes. When they got to the door of the library, he knocked, two steady beats, the sign that a member of his staff would be entering. Instead, Rey stepped in, letting go of his hand.

He caught a glimpse of the old king, sitting in a cloud of his own smoke--the reason he was dying in the first place--before Ben slowly closed the door and stood guard outside. There were no security cameras inside the palace, it was a house first and foremost.

Ben pretended to be taking a phone call every time a member of the household staff walked by. If he made eye contact, they would nod and continue looking busy, as if _he_ were someone important _they_ shouldn’t be looking at. After an hour, Rey opened the door and stepped back out, her face impassive, though it looked as though she had cried a little.

“What happened?” He said quietly, closing the door behind her.

“I’ll tell you at The Dagger,” she smiled, “I need a drink.”

\----------------------------------------------

The Grenadiers were circled around Rey at their corner booth as she regaled them with the events in the palace over a basket of chips.

“I didn’t want to get you guys in trouble and I could tell he was a little senile. So-,” she paused, trying not to laugh so she could finish the story, “I told him he’d set up the meeting with me and maybe he’d forgotten. He did not want to admit that so he pretended like he knew I was coming!”

“Oh, thank god,” Oliver said, once they all realized their part in the plot would go unpunished.

“But after we talked and I told him how life had been for me, he felt bad and...he wants to make it up to me,” she said, her eyes shiny as she looked at Ben. “He called me his _granddaughter_ and he wants me to come back tomorrow.”

“So, you’re. Like. A real princess now,” Zed said, looking around. “You’re like Anastasia.”

“He started talking about bodyguards and press statements and he kept calling people,” Rey said, “He’s actually kind of nice, when he’s not yelling at people on the phone.”

Oliver refilled Ben’s pint. “Ben, I still can’t believe you pulled this off. You know who was in line after the king? Lady Marjorie. That cousin that treats her dogs better than the Guards.” 

“Oh, I’m going to treat you guys _so well_ ,” Rey promised.

They looked at Ben, raising their eyebrows.

“Oh my god. Not like that!” She blushed, laying her face down in her arms on the table.

“ _I’m_ still getting treated like that, right?” Ben said, enjoying her embarrassed smile. Everyone knew the last two weeks they had been inseparable, working up the nerve to _actually_ enter the palace uninvited.

“Yes, Ben,” she said sweetly, her head tilting down in a crude pledge of deeds to come, right there in front of all the boys. 

He was beginning to understand with absolute clarity how _their_ ancestors could have worshiped at the feet of _hers_.


	6. This heart's on fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tell it everywhere I go  
>  I don't know what to do  
> This heart's on fire  
> This heart's on fire  
> This heart's on fire  
> This heart's on fire**
> 
> This Heart’s On Fire by Wolf Parade

There were a total of 547 rooms in Rey’s new residence and she’d only seen inside a dozen of them. Kensington Palace was so close to Hyde Park, she could spy her old study hill from her new office on the third floor.

Being a Royal was very different from a fairy tale. It had been three months since the Guards helped her infiltrate the aristocracy, after which she lost control over her entire being. 

Her time was filled for her with a relentless schedule of events spanning the next two years. She didn’t shop, her clothes were made for her. She didn’t have school, she had a personal tutor. She didn’t cook, or clean, or work, or have visitors other than family—an endless stream of family—all unrelatable toffs with fake smiles and real gifts who told her stories of her father but would never make mention of her mother.

But the worst part was that she was alone. 

Everything could have been made better if she had Ben. And she had tried. She had visited almost every Royal residence, across the UK, Norfolk, Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland, trying to find a chink, a place in her new world where someone might meet her unnoticed, but security was vigilant and she had a staff of people whose job it was to protect and monitor her. 

She could walk for a mile into the gardens and woods of a property and text Ben hopefully, only to find a bodyguard around the next hedge.

She would call him, crying, trying to reassure him that she wasn’t cutting him out on purpose. She felt powerless, drained by her grandfather and the tight fist of control he had used on her father. No wonder her dad had chosen a life of civilian obscurity. 

All Rey wanted to do was run away to The Dagger some dark Saturday night and surprise the boys, play the Laughing Game and remember what it was to smile.

She had spent all day in a very uncomfortable amount of chiffon as a tailor fitted a dress for the gala the following night at Buckingham Palace. _Ah, the dreaded gala._ She had heard her assistant, Amilyn, speaking on the phone to her grandfather about it a month ago. 

“What do you mean, sir, sorry? As in eligible for Princess Rey? Will there also be women at this event?” She asked, irritability. Amilyn had worked with her grandfather for years and was the only person she had seen stand up to him. “Well, what if she _is_ into women, have you thought of that? No, I’m joking. But I think we both remember how this attitude worked out for Alexander. Yeah, I said it. Don’t worry, you’ll forget I said it in an hour. Haha. Okay, go take your pills.”

Rey still felt itchy, even though the tailor had left an hour ago. Sitting at her desk, she checked her phone. Still no response from Ben today. She turned her back on her phone and walked to the window, remembering that there was a time when all she required was a patch of cold grass and an arm for a pillow.

That’s when she saw him, standing on the edge of Kensington Gardens with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the brick behemoth of her residence. “Ben!” she said, trying to prise the window open, but it wasn’t that type of window. He couldn’t see her in the dark room so she ran back to her desk and switched the lamp on. When she slid back to the window he was gone. 

_\--------------------------------------------------------_

The ballroom at Buckingham Palace was only one of the 19 red-carpeted rooms built for entertaining heads of state and visiting dignitaries. Rey had only seen it once, when Amilyn had given her a tour, but the tables and chairs had been removed, which only made it seem bigger now. It felt strange to stand next to her grandfather on a raised platform _with thrones_ , receiving guests, when the guests had been there more times than she.

The room was starting to blur into one sparkling color of dresses and chandeliers, before she realized her eyes were filling with tears. She should have been happy. She’d gotten to meet the Prime Minister. And there was a room full of dukes her age, jockeying for her attention.

_That was the point of this whole thing, right? For her grandfather to make sure she didn’t go the way of her father, marrying outside of their social circle?_

Rey could barely hear the orchestra on the balcony as the Duke of Somerset led her to the middle of the room for a dance. She tried to ignore the softness of his un-worked hand while she dutifully stepped and turned, the way Amilyn had taught her. But honestly, he smelled like perfume.

Her grandfather had gone to sit down, lording over the room from his throne while he watched her perform for him. She’d play along, play his game for one night. But there was only one hand that belonged in hers.

When the song ended, the duke led her over to a small drinks table, offering her a glass of champagne and finally dropping her hand. She coughed on her drink when he moved his hand down to her hip, but that hand was big and rough and she was so confused, until she followed the arm to Ben, standing behind her, tall and silent and wearing a tux.

He motioned for her to follow him and she did, hoping he wasn’t about to get caught and punished just for sneaking in to see her. She knew the penalizations, they’d gone over the consequences when planning their coup. He could go to prison for this and he could kiss his career goodbye.

Safely inconspicuous, two doors down from the ballroom in an empty billiards room, Ben closed the door and turned to her, his face as unreadable as the day they met.

“Ben, what are you doing here?” She asked, feeling stupid and puffed up in her dress, wishing Amilyn hadn’t stuffed a diamond tiara on her head at the last minute.

“More like what are _you_ doing here, Rey?” He said, coming closer. 

She backed up to the pool table. She wasn’t expecting anger. She thought he looked sad, yesterday on the edge of the park.

“Me?” Rey stepped out of her heels. She didn’t want their sound to give away her location to security that might come looking for her. “I haven’t done anything.”

_She hadn’t. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t meet him in person, it wasn’t allowed._

“Exactly, what happened to the Rey who did _everything_ herself?” He said. “You have a voice, you just don’t use it, do you understand? He can tell you what to do all day long but he can’t _make_ you do anything.” He was only a foot away from her now. “These people, Rey, they only respond to power and fire and you have it, you just have to say the word and they’ll crumble.”

Rey felt the truth in his words. She hadn’t put up a fuss for one second since she met her grandfather. She was in shock, after growing up poor and hungry to have such a change in surroundings. “You seem to know a lot about these people.”

“Well, it’s because I’m one of them,” Ben said, reaching out and running the fabric of her dress through his fingers.

“What?”

“I’m here with my mum, the Prime Minister,” he said, looking at her seriously. 

_Why had she never asked about his parents?_

“But...your last name is Solo,” she said, her head spinning.

“Yeah, she didn’t change her name when she married my dad. Because she’s a bad ass. She’s also in line for a throne in Belgium, which means nothing to her. She campaigned and worked and married who she wanted and went into government on her own.”

It took Rey a moment to understand. Her grandfather wouldn’t have allowed a man on the premises who wasn’t blue-blooded husband material. She could be with him. She could have him. And her family. “You got an invitation?”   
  


  
“Yeah,” he said, stepping away, “And it should have come from _you.”_


	7. Right where it starts it ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **It comes  
>  A visible horizon  
> Right where it starts it ends  
> Oh, and then we start the end  
> It comes  
> A visible illusion  
> Oh, where it starts and ends  
> Love like a sunset**
> 
> Love Like a Sunset, Pt. 2 by Phoenix

“Oh, sure, do that thing you do!” Rey said, using her tone rather than volume to make him stay. She still had to be quiet, even though she wanted to rage.

“What thing?” He said, his voice a challenge.

“That thing where you tease me then pull away to get what you want!” Rey said, picking up one of her heels and throwing it at him.

He caught it, which was a relief, it would have made a racket if it had hit the wall. Her aim wasn’t great.

“What do you _want_ , Rey,” he said, tossing the shoe in a chair and waiting. His voice was calm and even, which made her fume.

“To fight,” she said, stepping forward and jumping so she could wrap her hands around his neck and pull him down to kiss her. 

He hunched and grabbed her legs, walking her back to plant her ass on the table, sending billiard balls clacking and rolling down the felt.

“What else?” He said, his lips still on hers as he unzipped her dress down the back.

“You,” Rey said, sliding her hands under his tux at the shoulders so he could shrug it to the floor.

He stopped bothering with her stupid dress, it was practically fused to her. They had done some of the sewing once she was in it. Instead, he pushed it up from the bottom and ripped her panties and tights down her legs.

She accidentally caught him in the chin with the tiara on the way back up and he pulled it out of her hair, mumbling, “you don’t need all this shit.”

Rey laughed, feeling like she hadn’t laughed in so long.

Ben stepped between her legs and she heard his zipper before he grabbed her knees and dragged her roughly to the edge of the table. She licked her hand and helped guide him, his hand already over her mouth by the time he pushed into her. 

_Guess he remembered she was loud._

Her cry came out as a muffled sob into his hand, but the pool table was creaky. He picked her up, their hips still flush, and laid her on the carpet, resuming his thrusts.

She felt raw where she had healed, stretching all over again. But there was something about breaking the rules that turned her on.

“Fuck, Princess,” he laughed in her ear, feeling her slick around his pumps.

She pushed his shoulder and he let her spin him to the floor so she could be on top. He was messing up her hair.

Hands flat on his chest, she chose a slower pace, rolling her hips so he dug into her walls. The change in pace also changed the mood and she leaned down to kiss him again, glad to have him back, even if he was disappointed in her.

His hands tightened on her thighs and she felt the fight in him too. She didn’t have to do everything alone. She had him. Her grandfather wouldn’t be around much longer, ergo the sudden urge to see her coupled. He’d be glad to meet Ben, royal in his own right, with family built from merit.

Ben groaned into her mouth and she felt him spill inside her, buried deep and unashamed because she was his, from the first time his eyes flicked her way. 

She continued rocking on him, still hard inside her, twisting his perfect white shirt in her hands, working her hips until _she_ was done, because he was hers and she’d choose her King.

\-------------------------------------

  
  


Rey walked down the line of soldiers, working her way slowly towards the Grenadiers. The crowd of civilians was cheering louder, the closer she got to Ben. 

They were public now. And the approval rating for the monarchy had never been higher. Tourism was booming and she was working with Prime Minister Organa to funnel that money to good works.

It was a meaningful ceremony, the Honour of the Guard, a show that these men and women were hers and she would protect them with her decisions and recommendations when it came to matters of war, that they would - and had died - for their country and their monarch and deserved respect.

Her grandfather was in awe of her, having lived so long under the negative public eye. He had practically retired all of his duties in favor of her, but she made time for him every week to heal their broken past.

The crowd was screaming now as she took tiny steps closer to the Grenadiers, dragging out their excitement. The boys themselves looked like they were struggling not to break into a grin.

_Oh, The Dagger would make so much money off this sea of tense faces if they snorted out the laughs they were all holding back._

Ben's ears were red but his face was stony. He was doing a good job. She stopped completely, pretending to take an interest in Oliver’s uniform, still three Guards away from Ben.

Ben’s fans screamed from behind the crowd gates. Everyone knew which one he was. Everyone loved him. Something about her choosing to date a Guard made everyone never more proud to be British.

She took another step, giggling as everyone snapped pictures and rioted, Ben’s mouth tightening in self restraint. _They had a whole country on their side._

Suddenly Ben turned his head, his whole body, and kneeled down in the grass. You would have thought a bomb went off from the noise as he raised a ring box and took her hand.

He smiled, ear to ear, and the boys laughed, clearly knowing he was going to do it. 

Rey heard the din shouting “YES! YES! YES!” for her as she nodded a shocked, open-mouthed reply, watching him slip an engagement ring on her finger and stand up to kiss her.

  
  


“You weren’t supposed to move,” Rey smiled, as if he’d broken the rules of the game. Her arms were around his neck, and he was so tall her feet had left the ground. Everyone cheered harder when her shoe fell off.

“One for The Dagger, I guess,” he said, finding her mouth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you liiiike??? Wrote this whole chapter in the bathtub!!!


End file.
